


Bring About the Change

by HiMiTSu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: Graves watched, in horrified fascination, as a man changed before his eyes. He had never seen the effects of a Polyjuice potion before that moment. When the tansformation was over the man before him straightened, cautious in his new body. An identical face stared back.
“Excellent.” The man said.  “Let’s begin.”
And so they did.
(or my take on real Percival Graves)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really a fan of the idea of real Grave being all sun and rainbows. I guess he made a very convincing villain, or maybe it's just the fact that I love my ships dark. So here is my take on Graves who willingly assisted Grindewald. Up to some point at least.
> 
> I wrote and then rewrote this three times and edited it more than that. I'm still not very happy with this fic, but I need to get it out there. I hope some of you can enjoy it!

Graves watched, in horrified fascination, as a man changed before his eyes. Skin stretched, blotched as if boiled alive and changed color and took another form. Hair lengthened and turned dark with grey at the temples. A tremor ran down the man’s hand and the chair he was holding onto shook violently, barely holding up the weight. A groan, pained, tore from the man’s throat as he took a gulp of air. Head bowed, he breathed heavily.

Graves had never seen the effects of a Polyjuice potion before that moment. It was forbidden in the US and finding a Potions Master willing to and having enough skills to brew it was a difficult task. Good thing Graves had contacts as well as money to pull it off. Now he had a full chest of small vials and a hardened knowledge that he would have to endure the sickening sight of its magic for many months to come. It was disgusting. But everything would be worth the cause, of that Graves was sure. Anything for the cause.

The man before him straightened, cautious in his new body. An identical face stared back.

“Excellent.” The man said.

Graves nodded, too stunned to talk.

“Let’s begin.”

And so they did.

 

* * *

 

Graves tapped his fingers impatiently on his thigh and glanced around yet again. He looked suspicious enough, hanging at the back alley, but considering he should be at the headquarters at that moment…He _was_ at the headquarters at that moment, Grindewald insisted he attend every meeting personally, leaving Graves pacing around a dingy little flat almost at the suburbs of New York. But the meeting was running late, it was already dark outside, and who knew what else Grindewald had in mind for the rest of the evening – the man wasn’t particularly forthcoming with his plans – and Graves needed to meet with his source.

Grindewald was as loath to be wearing a new face as Graves was to giving it to him but it was a necessary evil and, Graves repeated to himself again and again, it was to further their cause. This was why he let Gellert Grindewald in. A man who understood, a man who knew, a man who was going to make the world better…Graves joined him, joined him gladly and gave away his life and his loyalty. It was the right thing. Graves was inspired. He knew then how to bring about the change.

He glanced down the street again; his fingers itched for the wand in his sleeve but he restrained himself. Just a few more moments. The boy would come.

It was a strange coincidence that had brought him to Credence Barebone. One of his subordinate’s reckless behavior had uncovered some unknown truths about the community of New Salem. Unsure yet how the information could come about Graves made it his mission to befriend the son of Mary Lou. The woman was atrocious and only strengthened his believe in superiority of wizards over those who had no connection to magic. But the boy…

Not really a boy though, Graves thought as he noticed a hunched figure fast approaching. He acted small and allowed his adoptive mother boss him around but Credence Barebone was a grown man. He looked fragile and scared, his sunken skin pale and dark eyes unable to meet a direct gaze, lips bitten and hands trembling, but there was something beautiful about him. The persisting resilience in the face of blatant disregard and abuse. He shied away from the light, hid himself in the shadows, behind his mother’s back, but he was ready to face a challenge when cornered. Graves felt there was a strength to him, to simply be, to exist in a world so unwelcoming and cruel.

“Mr. Graves,” the young man muttered, his own way of a weak greeting, eyes fixed firmly on Graves’s shoes.

He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and carefully pressed his fingers to the young man’s chin; Credence flinched at the contact but moved into the touch when Graves cradled the side of his face gently.

Dark eyes flicked up to meet his for just a moment.

Illumination in the alley was small – nothing but some week lighting from the windows above, and the young man looked ethereal: his dark suit blending in with the shadows as if he himself was part of the darkness and only the deadly pale face with two points of black – eyes the color of abyss. In that moment Graves almost felt scared of him, this strange creature with so much pain and fear and no way out for it.

“I think I might have a lead,” Credence said, quietly, and had broken the strange spell.

Graves carefully lifted his chin so he could see the young man’s face but as soon as he trailed his fingers over the cold cheek and tore them away Credence hunched back on himself again.

“That is very good.”

Praise should have pleased him but Graves saw the young man’s hands ball into fists at his sides. When one does not feel worthy praise might hurt as much as offence.

“Good.” Graves, repeated, unnecessarily.

Credence told him, words pressing together so tightly it was hard to understand him, about a boy who came to Mary Lou’s quite often. Orphan, like the lot of them, but defiant and strong.

“I think he might be the one you are looking for,” Credence admitted.

Graves himself could not be sure what Grindewald wanted with the child; except that they would have a huge magical power and maybe would join the cause. Someone suppressing their magic like that could be very dangerous and Graves doubted such power could be contained. But Grindewald…Grindewald was an exceptional warlock, his power great and knowledge even greater.

Graves gave Credence’s shoulder gentle pat in goodbye and Disapparated.

 

* * *

 

“I had a vision,” Graves lied. “A child with a huge power. They are close to you.”

He never saw anything. Grindewald had shared the vision with him but it was so vague and foggy, more of a premonition really. He did recognize Mary Lou, her posture straight and chin held high. He remembered a shadow by her side – an entity that Grindewald claimed possessed an unbelievable power. It towered behind her back, huge and intimidating one second and then flickering and week the next. It was impossible to tell its true shape.

So Graves lied and pressed his palm to the back of Credence’s neck, caressing the skin that was cold as ice and promising greatness and power and most of all independence. Credence believed, this fearful cautious creature submitted to the merest touch and a gentle promise. It felt like dealing with a skittish animal and Graves would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

He healed Credence’s wounds, those horrible slashes that made Grave’s blood run hot with anger and disgust. He wanted to do more, he wanted to help but he knew Grindewald would not care for a Squib.

Graves did what he could, using gentle words and small miracles and a promise of bigger magic. Credence believed him; believed so openly and so fully it hurt. So Graves slipped the necklace around his neck and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and disappeared once again. Fearful of what he had done but sure in his actions nonetheless.

It was only days later when he was pacing the empty flat that a thought crept up – he had made a mistake.

 

* * *

 

Gellert Grindewald wasn’t a good man, but then Percival Graves wasn’t one either. He always believed the result justified the means – that had not changed. But he wasn’t sure what Grindewald’s intentions were anymore. Graves never cared about the fate of non-magicians, but the warlock was starting to hurt the wizards. That did not sit well with Graves.

He paced the small flat. It was more of a box with mold on the walls and paint peeling off the windows and allowed no more than five strides in every direction. He hated the place – having been locked up there for days when his master needed to be out in the city. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing back the messy tresses. He was nervous. Unable to find another way to let out his restless frustration he paced, wall to wall, door to window and back. A caged animal, he felt the fury simmer under his skin, but the worry in his heart was stronger than anything.

Graves understood he had made a mistake and yet, he did not regret it. Every time a vision of a sad hunched figure came to his mind, he knew there was no other way. Grindewald had gone too far. Whenever the wizard hurt a non-mage, Graves didn’t bat an eyelash, but going after someone who was a member of the wizarding community, who needed their help – needed to be saved – that was wrong. 

His fingers spasmed around the handle of his wand and sparks, white-hot, fell from the tip onto the carpet, burning small holes in it. It was an old carpet, left here by the previous owners. It didn’t matter.

Even a Squib, Credence Barebone was a very special young man. There was no telling what Grindewald would do to him to achieve his goal. More than that, Graves wasn’t sure about the fate of the child they were seeking either. Torn between his old oath of loyalty and his new promise to serve Graves found himself on the edge. He couldn’t stand aside and do nothing.

He surged into motion, stepped up to the window and charmed it open. The glass moved up with a snap, almost shattering from the force of his emotions. The air was thick with tension, the city waiting for something big to happen. Graves was waiting too. He had to swing out of the frame to look at the skyline; only bright red brick was straight ahead, across the narrow alley. He despised the little apartment. He was not allowed to leave, but he wanted, Merlin, he needed to.

He had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have…He pushed himself away from the window and crossed the room, hesitating before the door.

He had charmed the necklace. It was supposed to call for Grindewald himself, and it did – the warlock had left the moment it reacted, barking an order to Graves to stay before disappearing with a dull clap of Apparation. Graves wasn’t supposed to follow; hide away like a good useful puppet he was.

He couldn’t hide. He had charmed the necklace to alert him to Credence’s movements. Grindewald had taken them to a new location moments ago – it was that that had set off Graves’s building panic. They were not far away, a couple blocks South, it would be so easy to reach them, but Percival was apprehensive to show up and ruin Grindewald’s game.

The   wand in his hand was exploding with sparks again so he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and put it away in a holster. He just needed to wait this out.

The two would find the child and then Graves would take care of the fall out.

He wondered, not for the first time, what Grindewald was like when he had a face of Percival Graves on. The man was clever enough to pull off the character – not that they were that much different – and Graves had given some instructions of his own. But had really no one noticed? Would his old friends have understood? Would Credence know the person who cared for him from a heartless creature that hid behind the mask?

Graves’s wand vibrated in a holster by his side and he got back on track. The tip was glowing when he took it out and in the semi-darkness of the room a faint map of the city lit up the ceiling. Streets of New York stretched along the lines of cracked molding and Central Park covered almost all of the stain in the middle. On the map, a bright dot was jumping sporadically all over the city. Graves frowned at its crazy movement, too fast for the simple spell to work properly and show smoothly the progress. Were they Apparating again? There was no sense for Grindewald to drag Credence along every time.

And then, the ground shook under his feet. Screams rang out from the street and he rushed back to the window. He only caught a glimpse – but it was enough. Graves Disapparated to the roof to get a clear view.

A shadow of pure darkness was rushing through the city, destroying everything in its way. Buildings crumbled, eaten away by the sheer power, burnt by a fire of uncontrolled magic. It crashed stone and metal and devoured the light; people ran away screaming, confused and terrified.

Graves pulled up the map again and the movements of the shadow aligned perfectly with the locations of the bright dot – the necklace.

“Credence,” he breathed out, awed and terrified all at once, unable to keep the shock at bay.

He watched, horrified, how the young man tore through the city that never did him any good. How it had never showed him kindness, same way he was deaf to its pleas of mercy now. Graves’s hands balled into fists at the fury that surged through him. He noticed two bursts of Disapparation following the Obscurus– one without a doubt Grindewald, but the other unknown to him.

He could only look from afar how they hunted down Credence, trying to cut him off at the turns and hoping to subdue him. At some point the shadow ducked low under the line of the buildings and Graves lost sight of it completely. He still had the map however and could see that the dot had come to a stop at an underground station.

He Disapparaed without even thinking.

Graves pulled a hood over his head as he moved through the crowd, careful to avoid being noticed by the Aurors. It looked like all MACUSA forces were there – too many familiar faces. He had to Disapparate to a back alley not to catch anyone’s attention but it put him too far from the train station and he almost ran down the street to where the crowd was gathered.

Aurors were putting up protection spells, cutting off the civilians from the danger inside. With a sinking heart, Graves realized he wouldn’t be in time to slip past the barrier.

Desolate, he stepped at the edge of the crowd and watched Auror squads cautiously make their way down the mangled steps. He could not see Grindewald among them, but there was no doubt the man was already at the scene. Graves only hoped there would be someone at least half as desperate to help the poor young man at the center of it all.

Credence didn’t deserved to die like that: either in a battle with an enemy that wasn’t his own or on trial for something that wasn’t his fault. If only Graves had realized it sooner – what the young man actually was…

But no one expected the Obscurus to be older than ten. It was on a verge of impossible and yet, here he was. Beaten down and abused and belittled and still so strong. That power was what Grindewlad was after, but Graves doubted anyone could control it, control _him_. Credence was magnificent in his defiance, now that he finally tore himself away from everything that was hurting him.

He must be so scared, Graves thought with desperation. Of the Aurors hunting him down, of his own power that seemed to have no measure and most of all, of the man trying to take control of him. Grindewald was an impatient man and Graves new him well enough to predict his actions.

It took only moments but seemed to last so much longer. Graves cold see it in the way the Aurors guarding the perimeter stooped and relaxed just a fraction, knowing that the enemy had been defeated. Shreds of darkness were still drifting in the air above the station and that was what pressed Graves to admit that it was all over. He had failed Credence. This extraordinary young man who could have shined so bright if he was only ever given a chance to spread his wings and encouragement to be free.

Graves turned away from the scene and wondered away. Slipped into a first empty back alley he found and Disapparated away.

 

* * *

 

He needed to come up with a course of action. News of Grindewald being captured spread through the wizarding community like wildfire and merely an hour after the arrest everyone was aware of the triumph of the authorities – all the morning papers would be praising MACUSA no doubt.

There was no way to know for sure whether Grindewald would betray Graves’s involvement with the ruse; he certainly would not achieve anything by announcing that Percival Graves had been his ally all along. But sauntering to the president and claiming that he had been imprisoned by a spell which had grown weaker now that Grindewald could no longer maintain it properly and thus allowing Graves to escape would be too risky. So he hid away in the flat in those first hours when MACUSA was still celebrating a win and the city was buzzing with the news.

It rained horribly for hours and he spelled the window shut from afar, cautious of being seen.

It might be better to abandon everything and run away while he still had a chance. They would come looking for the real Percival Graves, not yet aware of the whole picture and he could use this first moments of confusion to get as far away from New York as possible. But where would he go? What would he do? Was there a point to running?

He could still play the imprisonment card, Merlin knew he looked haggard enough, and bet his life just on a smallest chance of staying home.

A tremor ran through him, fear or exhaustion it was impossible to say at that stage, so he slumped against a wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. What a terrible day, he thought. Strangely, his consciousness was detached from the whole drama for that moment. Another tremor ran down his thigh, this time stronger. And that’s when he knew it was not his body shaking. It was his wand, hidden in the holster and vibrating, trying to get his attention. Puzzled, Graves took it out.

This time the map spilled over the opposite wall. Graves squinted at the half-transparent lines that had a golden sheen to them – the charm was still strong. His eyes searched he streets as he tried to understand what could have set the spell off. He could see nothing…until suddenly his gaze slid to the side, tired eyes shortly closing against the brightness of the picture. When he opened them again he was looking straight at a shining little dot at the very outskirts of town.

How could have the necklace got there, he thought in confusion. Graves squinted at the dot some more before making a rush decision – they seemed to come easily to him these days. With a swift flick of his wand he Apparated.

There was mud under his shoes where he stood. The rain had stopped but everything was wet and unpleasant and he trudged over the dirt that clung to his boots. Up a small hill to have a better view. There were no tall buildings there, only a couple warehouses and factories in the distance. Everything was dull and grey: the landscape, the heart of the city in the distance, the sky and the earth and the river. He looked around to make sure there were no no-mages around; a simple Accio would be just enough to do the trick. Retreat the necklace and then…and then he would see.

There was not a soul around and Graves still had his wand out, so he flicked his wrist in a first stance of the spell and froze.

There, not far away, was a figure lying in the mud. Just a lump of dark fabric barely recognizable as a person.

Wand at the ready, Graves approached it with caution. A few steps ahead and he recognized the clothes. There was no room for caution after that.

He surged forward, almost slipping in the mud, and fell to his knees near the prone figure. It took him a moment to compose himself and carefully turn the young man from his side to his back. Credence’s face, pale with dirt smudged on his cheek stared back up at him. The young man was unconscious but Graves felt his slow shallow breathing under his hands. His fingers touched a pale cheek gingerly, so very careful not to spook. It was a habit so hard worn Graves barely noticed it any more – every time he reached out for Credence he did so slowly and cautiously. Even now, with the still form of the young man in his arms Graves was careful when he wiped the dirt from his cheek. Credence didn’t stir at the touch. His skin was stark white and ice cold to the touch. Graves had to reassure himself again that the young man was, indeed, breathing. It looked like the magic was the only thing sustaining him.

“Credence,” he called out quietly and tried to shake him a little. It made no difference.

Graves knew some basic healing spells, just like any other Auror, and was well versed in potions. But this was not the place for any magical ministrations. So he changed his grip on the wand, making sure it wouldn’t get crashed when he picked up Credence. The young man barely weighted anything and showed absolutely no sense of awareness. It was worrisome but not dire, Graves decided.

On the run it is, he finally concluded. The fate had decided for him.

Cradling Credence in his arms he Disapparated.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't clear in the story, I imagined that Grindewald was the one who attended the MACUSA meetings and left Graves deal with minor things, including his communications with Credence. Let me know what you think of such insane dea;)


End file.
